Games of Blood
by KBerry
Summary: The Hunger Games aren't over. They're just beginning. It is announced that the Hunger Games are being brought back, with changes that not only shakes the people involved, but changes everything the games ever meant as it crosses the slim line between being a punishment and a cruel display purely for amusement...
1. Chapter 1

**I had to write on of these. The world has been starved of Hunger Games and Darren Shan crossovers, and I just couldn't bear to think of it any longer ;)**

**So this is actually going to be a serious fic. It's set before the Epilogue at the end of Mockingjay, and in that lovely long time period between The Vampire Prince and Hunters of the Dusk that begs to be filled with something. Something like this, for instance!**

**At first things might not completely make sense. But all will be explained as this story goes on. Another reason for writing this is that my other crossover-Hallows and Hunters-is reaching its climax and end with only a few more chapters to go. I love crossovers, so I desperately wanted to write another, and here it is! As some of you know plot twists are some of my fave things, so there will be many XD This chapter focuses on Katniss, but Darren will be in the second chapter.**

**I will also take requests for people you want to see in the games, provided they aren't dead.**

**Hope you enjoy, reviews will be appreciated!**

**Disclaimer: I don't own The Hunger Games or The Saga of Darren Shan. **

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Katniss' POV

Nothing could have prepared me for the events of that day.

It seemed so ordinary. I got up that morning the same as every day, had breakfast, went hunting, had lunch. But that evening was one of the worst of my life. Peeta was watching the television in the next room while I attempted to make dinner-we liked to keep up with what was going on-when he called my name.

"Katniss!" his voice seemed level, but I heard the tiniest of shakes. Uneasy, I put down the saucepan I was holding and went into the room. Peeta was standing and staring at the television screen, his face white.

"What is it?" I asked. He opened his mouth, but couldn't seem to find the words to tell me what he had called me in for. I instead turned my attention to the television, where the new President-President Tiny-was giving a speech while camera's went off in his face, making his glasses flash.

"…should never have been abolished even for such a short amount of time," he said, continuing a speech I hadn't heard but had clearly made a huge impact on Peeta. I think even then I had an idea-a gut instinct- of what was going to happen next, but I repressed it. "I personally think it's an excellent way to remain in touch with our history, and a vital way of containing order in a time where things are so shaken and uncertain. This time, though, there will be a few changes. The tributes-"

I froze.

"-will be picked by me, rather than selected at random. We are in for an exciting year. And so it gives me great pleasure to formally announce," he said, raising his voice. The camera flashes increased as he paused for effect, and I felt my head spin. No. Please no. "That my first act as President will be to reinstate The Hunger Games."

There it was. Out in the open. Crystal clear. But I could not believe it. I had so many nightmares about it, I half believed-hoped-that it was all this was. But it wasn't.

As I stood there, staring transfixed at the screen, Peeta nearly pushed me over as he shoved past me and tore upstairs. I heard a door slam, but I didn't risk going after him. Tears streamed down my face. Then there was a loud knock at the door. I knew what and who it was without answering it.

"Open up!" someone yelled, still hammering on the door. But I couldn't move-paralysed with shock and an overwhelming fear that rooted me to the spot. "Katniss Everdeen, we summon you on orders from the President-"

No. I sank to the ground slowly, shaking my head and choking on my sobs.

"-to escort you from your home, as you have been chosen to participate in the newly reinstated Hunger Games. You are obliged to comply…"

I didn't hear his next words, couldn't focus. But then he said something that spurred me into action.

"As is Peeta Mellark."

My blood, rather than turn to ice, seemed to burn like acid, and a fire stirred within me. They couldn't do that to him. I leapt up from the floor, sped into the hall, and flung open the door so forcefully it banged against the wall.

"Leave us alone!" I screamed, knowing that they wouldn't, but not caring. "Leave us in peace!" I heard Peeta thunder downstairs and felt his arms tighten round my waist as he pulled me back from the doorway. When he spoke, his voice was cold and dangerous.

"Get out," he said simply. "Now."

"If you don't come easily we will be forced to take you by force."

"Fine!" He slammed the door in their face, locked it quickly with the key on the table beside it and shoved me behind him. "Run!"

"I don't know-"

"Just go anywhere!" I didn't need telling twice and ran into the kitchen, where I wrenched open a drawer and found a sharp knife. There was a loud slam as they tried to break down the door, and I jumped as there was a loud smash and the sound of broken glass clattering to the ground. They had broken a window. I looked to the back door-could I make it out?

No, I thought. Not without Peeta. I heard him cry out and a crash as something else broke. More shouts. I took a deep breath then ran to the hall, where Peeta was pressed to the ground, his head firmly held down. He struggled against them as they pulled his arms behind his back painfully and cuffed him. He saw me and his eyes filled with sadness, because he knew I couldn't escape now. Even as I watched him someone slammed into my side and twisted back my arm holding the knife. It clanged to the floor and I bit back a scream of pain as they shoved me down. I sobbed as they restrained me. I couldn't do it again.

I didn't want to win.


	2. Chapter 2

Darren's POV

It was another boring day in the Hall of Princes, and not falling asleep from a mixture of exhaustion and mind-numbing boredom was proving difficult. It was just me, Mr Crepsley and Mika in the hall-both Arrow and Paris had gone to get some much needed rest. Then there was the rap of a staff on the doors to the hall, breaking the silence. Mika opened the doors, and a flustered looking, red faced vampire hurried in. We all straightened, and I frowned. He looked worried…scared. The vampire dropped to his knees in front of us.

"Sires," he gasped. ""He is here, Tiny has come to the mountain and wishes to speak with Sire Shan." My gut tightened, almost like a python had wrapped around it-what did Mr Tiny want with me?

"Why?" I asked. He shook his head.

"Forgive me-I do not know. He only said that he wanted to speak to you." I exchanged a glance with Mr Crepsley, who didn't look happy, but nodded curtly.

"OK then…we'll see what he wants," I said. The vampire nodded and ran back out of the hall, and when he returned it was with a dozen or so green clad guards clutching spears. Any weapon would most likely be useless against Desmond Tiny, but as vampires we didn't want to admit that.

Then the man himself came in.

He was grinning widely, and looked strange dressed in a smart black suit rather than the strange clothing I'd seen him in before and heard of him wearing in many tales. Apparently Mika thought so too.

"What's with the wardrobe change?" he grunted. Mr Tiny laughed a laugh that echoed around the cavernous hall.

"So nice of you to notice," he replied mockingly, then added on a more serious note, "I have recently acquired a position that requires more formal dress than what I usually choose to wear."

"What position?" Mika pressed.

"I think," Mr Tiny said quietly but dangerously, "that you shouldn't ask so many questions. It annoys me." He gave me a wink. "Isn't that right, Darren?"

"Why are you here?" Mr Crepsley snarled. "Enough with the meaningless chatter-"

"Be patient, Larten!" he laughed, and Mr Crepsley scowled. "I'm getting there. Now, I've taken it upon myself to volunteer Darren for something."

"For what?" I asked nervously, and his eyes sparkled like gems.

"You won't know what it is when I tell you."

"Try me."

"It's called The Hunger Games," he said, then smirked at our blank stares. "I told you that you wouldn't know of it. It's in the future."

"What exactly is it?" I asked. Judging by the grin on Mr Tiny's face, it wasn't good.

"In the future, in a place called Panem, there are twelve districts. Every year, two children from each district between the ages of twelve to eighteen-one girl and one boy-are chosen to take part in the Hunger Games, where those twenty four children are placed in a carefully designed arena and fight each other until there's only one left. That person is the winner." He took in our horrified expressions, and added cheerfully, "It's also televised."

"How…" Mr Crepsley trailed off in disgust and shook his head. I was shaken to the core. That was the future? How could the human race let that happen…?

"But there was a rebellion, and the Hunger Games were nearly abolished completely." Mr Tiny sighed sadly, as though the end of those brutal games was a great tragedy.

"…nearly?" I asked. He nodded, his smile returning.

"Nearly. I fought long and hard to bring it back. And it will be a grand reopening." He looked directly into my eyes, and I felt my heart stop at what he said next. "I've decided that you will take part."

"What?" Mr Crepsley snapped. I couldn't say anything-I was too horrified, struck dumb with the suddenness of it all and how appalling the whole thing was. A televised fight to the death? "But he is not from any of those districts, or in the age group-"

"He doesn't need to be," Mr Tiny said, waving a hand. "I've temporarily bent the rules for this event." I thought of all the people I'd have to kill. I wouldn't be able to live with myself afterwards, even if I did win.

"No," I said firmly. "I won't do it." His smile never faltered.

"Yes, you will. You see, this isn't an offer. You're entering."

"He is NOT!" Mr Crepsley boomed, marching towards him. "There is no reason for him to enter, why would you do this?"

"I have my reasons," he said, shrugging, then turned to me. "Come along, Master Shan. I can take you there."

"No!" Mr Crepsley objected again. Mr Tiny looked amused.

"Do you volunteer, Larten?" he asked, chuckling. He opened his mouth, but I interrupted.

"No," I said. "I'll go."

"You'd be wise to. There will be trouble if you don't."

"And trouble if he does!" Mr Crepsley snapped. "You cannot expect him to fight so many or-"

"Very well, you can go with him," Mr Tiny said, and that was when Mika stood, his face like thunder.

"They are NOT going! I won't stand for this lack of respect!" he shouted, then said, "Grab him!" The guards moved forwards immediately, spears raised, then froze as Mr Tiny effortlessly raised a hand, stopped by some invisible force. Mr Tiny laughed again at our faces, then created a shimmering archway before us, a blood red light glowing softly around the edges. A gateway to Hell.

"Go on then," he said. Neither of us moved, and he raised his eyebrows. "Fine." He grabbed my arm suddenly, and try as I might I couldn't wrench it out of his vice like grasp.

"Let go!"

"No," he said, then hissed into my ear, "you WILL compete-or I will bring down the clan, and everyone you love. You won't live in peace if you do not do as I say! I rule you, Darren Shan, don't you forget it!" Then he roughly released me, leaving me to make my decision. I paused, then, with a deep breath-ignoring Mr Crepsley as he reached to pull me back- I stepped forwards…through the archway…to what would probably be my death.


	3. Chapter 3

**Thanks to the people who reviewed, means a lot :) Just so you know, when I write as Katniss, I will (at least be trying to!) use American spellings, and when I write as Darren it will be the English spellings. I just prefer it that way, I like it to seem true to the books, and Katniss is American and I'm pretty sure Darren is supposed to be Irish, so that's how I will be writing. Just letting you know in case some of you notice and wonder why it's like that XD**

**Enjoy :)**

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Katniss' POV

When I wake up, disorientated and confused, I've forgotten what happened. Then as the bruises from my rough treatment start to ache dully, I remember.

My heart seems to jump in panic and I bolt upright, my eyes frantically searching the room for some kind of clue to where I am. The room isn't what I'm used to-it has none of the Capitol's grandeur, nor does it look neglected or run down. It's simply…plain. The box like room has white, windowless walls and a gleaming tiled floor. The only things in the room other than me are a small table holding a glass jug of water, an empty, crystal glass, and beside the table the metal bed on which I am sitting. There are two doors, and I get up a little unsteadily to investigate. The first, I discover, leads to a small bathroom with only a toilet and sink. The other is made of hard, thick metal and is well set into the wall. I notice in dismay that it doesn't have a handle. I hope that the lack of any food or methods of bathing or showering means that I am not in for a long stay.

I sit back down onto the bed, and my thoughts turn to Peeta. Is he OK? Did they hurt him? I know I must have been unconscious for a while, because the last thing I remember is being on the floor of my house, and a stinging pain in my arm…they must have sedated me. Oddly, this thought anger flare inside me. I despise the hold they have over me. I was a fool to think it was over. They've brought back the games…I rebelled before. I can do it again. I have nothing to lose-if I play by the rules, either or I'll die or Peeta will. What can they do if I don't?

Suddenly, I want to make them listen. Something in me snaps, and I grab the jug of water, jump to my feet and launch it at the metal door. On impact it shatters into dozens of glass shards, the water splashing all over the floor. I pause for a moment, breathing raggedly, before I notice something I missed before. In the top right corner of the room is a small camera, its lens watching my every move, the tiny red light blinking.

"Yeah?" I find myself screaming at it, snatching up the glass from the table. "What are you going to do? What else can you possibly do?" With another scream of rage I hurl the glass at the camera and watch with satisfaction as it leaves a crack on the lens and the broken pieces rain down. I spread my arms wide, so full of anger that I'm not even thinking about my movements-I'm driven by a raging fire that won't be quenched by logic. "Come on then! Come and get me!" I watch the door, expecting to hear muffled sounds from outside, or for someone to enter. But after a few moments I feel the back of my neck prickle. Slowly, I turn. My breath catches in my throat. Standing directly behind me, smiling, is president Tiny. He looks pointedly at the glass and water on the floor while I stand, stunned.

"Tut tut, Katniss," he says in a smooth, calm voice that somehow still seems to hold the venom of a viper. I am reminded of Snow, and how his placid attitude could be more terrifying than if he was angry. "You're a very naughty girl, throwing a tantrum like that."

"How did you get in?" I ask. He taps his nose.

"It's a mystery," he says infuriatingly. I scowl, not in the mood for games.

"It won't be a mystery if you tell me."

"It is if I don't." There's a pause in which he studies me from behind his thick glasses.

"Where's Peeta?" I ask the question that I want…_need_ an answer to the most. "Have you hurt him?" He chuckles at that. I see nothing funny.

"Miss Everdeen, I have no intention of hurting you or your Mr Mellark," he says.

"You brought back the games," I say coldly. "Don't you think that will hurt us?"

"That depends on how you behave during the games. Whether you aim to win, or help the other to victory. It will be interesting, I'm sure. But just a heads up," he adds, his malicious smile widening, "there may be a few nasty surprises." I'm not particularly bothered by his warning. How much worse could things get?

"What is this place?"

"You're in the Capitol. I had an idea that you would be a difficult guest, so we had this room prepared for you," he says. "Peeta is in a similar room, although he hasn't thrown anything yet."

"How much longer will I be locked in here?" I ask him.

"Not too long," he answers vaguely. Then he grins. "Soon enough for the opening ceremonies. You looked so beautiful and fierce last time Katniss…" He reaches out as though to touch my face, but I jerk away sharply. He lets his hand drop. "Though I'm afraid that time, my dear, has ravaged you. More of a dimming ember than a flame now, aren't we?" He laughs at his joke, and I realise something. I _hate_ this man. I hate his smile, and how he speaks to me. I hate what he's done, how he's destroyed everything I fought for so easily for what seems like no reason at all. I see echoes of Snow in this man, but somehow sense he is, if possible, far more dangerous and powerful.

But I say nothing. I now regret my actions before-he wants a show. I won't give it to him. Instead I convey my hatred through my eyes and stare him down. He stares back, his eyes that of someone evil-joyful, but darkly malicious.

"I must be off," he says, heading towards the door with no handle. He reaches out then turns back. "Oh-and may the odds be _ever _in your favor," he says with relish then, to my surprise, simply opens the door with a push. He slips out, the door shutting firmly behind him. I walk forwards, being careful not to step on the broken glass, and tentatively press against the door with my hand, then slam against it with the full force of my body. It doesn't budge. I hadn't really expected it to.

With nothing better to do I return to my bed, curl up in a ball, stare at the blank white wall and think about the day's events, the horrors I am about to face, and the fruitlessness of the rebellion. All the while, I see the red light of the security camera flashing in the corner of my eye.


	4. Chapter 4

**Hi guys! Well, I'm going away tomorrow to Scotland-not exactly sun, sea and beaches, but you know-so I decided to update some of my fave fics before I left. So I've udated this one, and my Harry Potter crossover. And do you know what would be nice to come back to? Reviews ;)**

**Anyway, I hope you enjoy the chapter!**

**KBerry x**

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Katniss POV

I am beginning to wish that I hadn't wasted the water when the door to my box room opens. My head snaps up and I tense. Then I see who it is, and-to my surprise as much as his-I rush to embrace him.

"Hey sweetheart," Haymitch says, his voice oddly thick, like he too might be holding back tears. I release him. His expression is grim.

"Haymitch," I say before he can speak. He doesn't try to talk over me, and there's a period of silence before I can find the right words to tell him how I feel, what I am going to do. He won't change my mind, but it would be nice to have his backing…I don't want to leave on bad terms. "Haymitch…I can't live without him." He doesn't say anything. "I don't want to win. I'd rather die than win and let him die instead. I nearly lost him before…" There is no doubt that he understands, and I wait a long time for his reaction. But it's not what I expected.

"Katniss, if you lose so will he."

"….What?" I ask. He laughs loudly, but I can tell he isn't really amused. His eyes remain full of pain.

"You honestly think that if you die, he'll carry on living? There's no point in your little game!" his voice rises to a shout and he turns his back on me, breathing heavily.

"Then what?" I say angrily. "What am I supposed to do?" No reply. "_Haymitch?_"

"If what you say is true," he replies hollowly, "and you won't live without Peeta, and he won't live without you, then there's only one possible outcome." He doesn't need to finish, but I can't…I _won't _believe it.

"But we'll find a way, last time-"

"No!" he interrupts, spinning back around. "There is no way! And these games are pointless! Don't you see, Katniss? The Hunger Games used to be as a reminder not to rebel, at least they pretended it was right! Some of the contestants aren't_ from_ the districts, some districts have four tributes, some none! This is just a bloodbath for the sake of that new President Tiny's amusement!" I think about how the former President vanished suddenly. Was that Tiny's doing?

"Why?" I ask quietly.

"Why? For FUN!" he shouts. "You've made it before, but a third time? You'll be lucky if you get the choice to win or not!"

"Well thanks," I snap. "I'm about to fight to the death, and you do what? No words of encouragement, no help, you throw a tantrum!"

"What did you expect?" he yells back while I listen, fuming. "I've been in the games, and they destroyed my life! There are no victors, what they win isn't life! Not anymore!"

"You're not the one about to go back in the arena!" I scream, and he suddenly falls silent. Tears escape and slide down my face, and I quickly wipe them away. Eventually, he sighs.

"The reason I came is to tell you that they want to get you ready for the opening ceremony," he explains. I nod, avoiding his eyes. "They've brought it forwards. With no reaping, people are anxious to see the tributes. I think some are glad the games returned," he adds bitterly.

"So where do I go?" I ask flatly.

"Go left down the hallway outside, then left again, and it's the last door on your right." I nod again and leave without saying anything. I've had enough with him for the moment.

The hallway outside is very different to my box-like prison. It is large and grand looking, with a deep red carpet and white walls. I notice a small table towards the right. It holds an ornate vase… full of velvety, crimson roses. I stiffen and stare at them, unable to look away. They're probably just there to match the carpet, but to me it seems like a chilling omen.

I wrench my eyes away from them and hurry down the hallway, but I keep imagining that I can smell their sickly scent, even though I can't possibly be able to from this far away. When I reach the right door, I can't help but look back at them, the pretty little flowers that manage to strike such fear into my heart. Such hatred.

Pushing thoughts of Snow from my mind, I enter the room, and find that they've set up some kind of salon, with huge, fancy looking mirrors. The smell of a dozen perfumes and hair products lingers in the air. It's a sweet smell, but it chokes me like gas.

My new prep team are a sullen lot. But so am I, so we're evenly matched. They don't chat to me like my old team used to, but get on with their work in silence, slathering goo onto my hair, painting my face and plucking stray hairs from my eyebrows. In a way I'm grateful that it stings-that way my eyes look like they could be watering from the pain. I wonder what they'll dress me in. Will it be a frilly girly dress, or something fire related? Maybe it will be humiliating, designed to mock me in front of an audience.

It turns out to be much worse. In fact, when they stand me before a full length mirror so I can see their finished work, it's like someone has stabbed a poison tipped knife into my heart and twisted it.

My long dress sweeps the ground and is a simple, plain gold in color with nothing adorning the shiny material. Strapped to my back is a pair of large, golden wings that stretch out and past my shoulder blades as though I am in flight. My eyes are rimmed with golden eyeliner, my lipstick the same metallic color. They've even dyed streaks into my hair, which has been put into a long braid, fastened with a golden hair tie.

There is no mistaking what I am supposed to be. I am a Mockingjay. More specifically, I am THE Mockingjay, the metal bird from my pin, once a symbol of rebellion, now a symbol of my failure. This was probably Tiny's doing-and I bet he knew how I would feel about it, how the people who were part of our failed rebellion will feel when they see me dressed like this.

I stand before the mirror, unable to choke out a sound, while my team stands behind me, their altered faces impassive, uncaring. And why should they care? I am no longer really the Mockingjay. I am barely even Katniss Everdeen. I am the broken girl from District Twelve who's fire has burnt out, the girl who flew so high then crashed to the ground and burnt. And soon I will be dead.

"You…you look nice," a member of my team says softly. The rest of the team shoot her disapproving looks and frowns. The woman who spoke has numerous tattoos, and her hair is a bright, unnatural crimson that stands out shockingly against her pale face, on which she has red painted lips and large, fake black lashes with red pointed tips. However, underneath it all, she is genuinely pretty, her eyes soft and kind.

"Thank you," I choke out. She nods and, hesitantly, gives my shoulder a quick squeeze. The rest of the prep team look truly panicked now and hurry away. I stare after them.

"We've been told not to speak to you," she whispers, leaning in close. "But you look so upset…"

"I'm fine," I say, but the slight tremor in my voice gives me away. "It's just…the costume…"

"It's beautiful," she assures me, but I shake my head.

"No it's not that-"

"Serafina!" another member of the team snaps from the other side of the room where she is cramming sticks of lipstick and various other types of make-up into a box as though she is being timed.

"Go," I say sharply. I don't want her to get in trouble. I can't handle someone else's blood on my hands.

"No," she says firmly, clasping my hands in her own, scarlet nailed ones. "_You are the Mockingjay_."

"No," I say. "I was. But I failed, Tiny's brought everything back-"

"Then we need the Mockingjay more than ever," she whispers, and I'm stunned to see a tear glistening on her powdered cheek. "Fight back, Mockingjay. For those who gave their lives, for the future." Then she releases me and hurries away to join the others. Her words strike me deep. I think of Peeta and Gale, all that they went through. Cinna, and his fatal stand against the Capitol with a simple outfit so similar to this one, yet so different. I think of District 12. I think of her. I think of Prim.

I want to keep fighting. But soon I'll be back in the arena, with Peeta's life to worry about, never mind my own. I can't rebel from there. What use is a caged Mockingjay...?


End file.
